Everything in the Right Order
by rhyejess
Summary: A series of one-shots for my Edward/Bella twilight20 claim, working towards I hope a realistic physical relationship between them.
1. 1 Everything in the Right Order

**AN:** Unbeta'd. For my twilight20 (community./twilight20) prompt #1: **Hero**, on my Edward/Bella claim. My goal with this claim is to write a realistic journey towards a sexual relationship for them. All fics for this claim will be at: planetgal471./999133.html.

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I'm making no money for this.

Everything in the Right Order

There was another reason she wanted him to wait, more fleeting, impractical, and difficult to grasp: the cliche. The princess always falls into a trap laid by her enemy, needing to be rescued by a knight, and is stolen away to marry him. The wedding ends, presumably, with the happy couple riding away in some large, white carriage pulled by unicorns.

Bella had never liked the princess protagonists, growing up. They always did the same things. Why couldn't they have common sense, or be more circumspect about the situations they were in? Why did they always fall in love, often nearly immediately, with their rescuer? How come they never got themselves out of these situations, or at least not without the help of animal sidekicks and men in shining armor. Bella swallowed hard. Her situation was totally different. Her animal sidekicks weren't _really_ animals, and her knight shone without the need of armor.

She simply needed to distance herself for a moment from the battle, from watching Victoria torn to pieces by Edward, from watching Seth take on Riley. She did not want to remember her first time as the aftermath of a fight. She didn't want to look into a mirror and see the damsel in distress. Bad enough that she often felt so helpless now, as a human. She had every intention of leaving behind her helpless role with her humanity. She did _not_ want reminders lodged in her memories.

And so, she clung stubbornly to fighting for the causes of Charlie, Renee, and Alice. They were good causes, but they were not the only ones. She simply could not give herself to Edward while he was still her _hero_. She'd rather wait until he returned to the usual fretful un-dead ethical philosopher that she loved so much.


	2. 2 Villain

Villain

I am not used to being this utterly confused. If I examine it closely, the confusion may result from the destruction of all of my notions of self and soul. Too often, what I most want for Bella-- her happiness-- requires that I put her in danger, physical and spiritual. To withhold from her that happiness which should (would, even, if not for my ungodly presence in her life) by all rights be hers seems criminal as well. It is just so very like Bella that her survival and her happiness remain always at odds. She is impossibly unique. I cannot properly express, even to myself, how desperately important she is to me.

I vacillate. I can't deny her her wish to be physically intimate with me as a human. I also cannot put her at risk of physical harm. Only risking Bella's life with my own two hands can put this much terror into me. I wish I could think of a way to grant both of our wishes, a compromise.

Worse than terrified, though, I am aroused. I am sexually excited at the prospect of relations with my Bella, and I guess that's not surprising, but just now, while trying to think of a position that would ensure her safety, it seems uncouth. I've never spared the act much thought in the past. I thought of war when I was alive. During the Great War, it was difficult for a boy of my age and status to think of anything else. My father had risen to Captain in the Navy, and, when he wasn't at sea, he was often gone to the Municipal Pier, converted then to makeshift barracks for fresh recruits. I hoped more than anything to join those young men.

After my death, I felt no sexual impulse for a great long while. I knew only the call of blood lust, mingled with guilt, confusion, and the thoughts of countless other people. Having not developed much in the way of a lustful nature as a boy, and lacking one still, Esme worried that I would never mature in that way. When I never grew attached to Rosalie romantically, I think Carlisle harbored brief suspicions that I may be musical. But Carlisle wasn't hearing Rosalie's self-important and vain thoughts day in and day out, so I didn't expect he would understand.

I can safely say now, as I lie prone on the bed I bought for Bella with my hand slid down the front of my still-fastened pants, that I most certainly am attracted to women. But that's a lie, too, isn't it? I'm attracted to only one woman, and in only a handful of months, I would have her. I might have her here, on this bed. No doubt I would, someday.

My mind flicks forward to the future Bella has-- stubborn as she is-- chosen for herself. I've worked hard to pardon myself for exerting any undue influence on her beyond my affections. I never asked her to change. In fact I tried quite hard to compel her to remain human. Still, I feel as if my love for her begged her to join me, countermanding in actions any words I raised in protest.

In that future, Bella and I _will_ conjugate our marriage over... and over, and over... for all eternity, on this bed. It most likely will not be located in Forks. My mind swims with the dizzying idea of mattresses battered into uselessness while I try to force the farcical sentiment away. As long as it stood, this frame would hold _us_.

I can imagine Bella here in the bed with me, giving me that hungry glare, something in between a child begging for candy and a cat eying its prey. I feel myself smile. My back arches on its own as I think of her face, paler maybe. Her eyes would lose their deep warmth for the topaz mark of my family. I cannot even begin to imagine her more beautiful, though; one could not improve upon perfection.

I cannot hold her image here in the lonely, Bella-less bed for long. I know that Bella cannot be quelled or silenced or made a passive partner in much of _anything_, and I know this act would be no exception. I imagine she will be some mix of frustratingly shy and frustratingly impatient, and I smile more widely as my sheer awe of her causes my body to surge. I hasten to remove my pants, not wanting to rip them as I know-- from experience-- I might easily do.

My manhood free and in the air, a new fear flickers through me. This pale staff is as alive as any other part of me. Obviously not blood-filled, my penis is fueled by the trace amounts of venom that are my bodily fluids, and by sheer effort of the nervous system (I am guessing. I haven't ever taken the time to dissect one of my kind. I wouldn't care to, regardless.) Luckily, since none of this venom is in my reproductive system proper, none will escape in that moment of final ecstasy.

My fear does not center around my anatomy, but is due to the realization that Bella's experience will _not_ be human. The erection gets no harder as I begin to worry over this issue. Presupposing all safety issues were properly taken into account, I am still asking Bella to have intercourse with this-- non-lubricating, non-ejaculating, ice cold, and rock hard (truly, and not in the colloquial sense that boys seem to bandy about so easily). I have never thought poorly of this part of my body before. It is stark white and holds a careful arch while erect, not long or short, not wide or thin. Of all my limbs and digits, it feels to me the most human. I have often in my long existence given up hope of putting it to its intended use. Now that its future is certain and decided, I'm not sure it will be good enough.

I fall back onto the bed, a gloomy mood settling over me as the erection slips away into a world of worries. Alice does say I over-think everything. I wish I _could_ sleep, at the very least to stop my circular and destructive thought processes for a while. I sit back up and stare into the gloom outside of the window that is one wall of my room.

It's Twilight. Bella is getting off work just now. I don't tarry. I crave her presence like a drug, and it is this, and the attentions I lavish on her as a result of my love, that has caused all of this trouble. I've taken her future, her life, and now I will have her virginity. I was going to rob her of the one human experience she wanted simply by not being human.

But no, if I lived until the death of the Sun, I would never be magnanimous enough to share her physically with another man, nor to let anyone-- human or not-- have her maidenhood first. I am so selfish. I do not want to bring up this issue lest she reject my alien body. I would rather steal this one experience away from her. I run faster; I need to be near her now, before this black mood settles fully.

I may save her life and limb. I may hold her when she cries, and I may rescue her from dark streets and evil men. I may be the cautiousness she lacks. But many things I can't be. As often as I save her, I cannot be her hero.

In many ways, I am still her villain.


End file.
